


Three Kinds of Yes

by eggshellseas



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Peter/Charley/Amy, Jerry is a creep, M/M, Minor Violence and Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellseas/pseuds/eggshellseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For now all they can do is keep playing Jerry’s game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Kinds of Yes

Charley feels it like a chill up his spine when the sun sets. He should already be back at the motel and Peter will be worried. Right on cue he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“I know,” he says as soon as he answers.

“Bloody lunatic,” Peter grumbles. Charley can hear the genuine concern underneath the gruff, even though things have been strained since Amy. Charley still can’t think about it without his throat seizing up.

“I’ll be there soon. It’s okay,” he says with conviction he doesn’t feel. Without thinking he raps his knuckles against the wooden bar top, but as the hairs on the back of neck stand on end he knows he’s already jinxed.

Jerry’s there, behind him - he must have already been close by. Of course, it’s never like he’s far off. Charley’s first instinct is to look for his exits, but Jerry smoothly stretches an arm out, rests a hand on the bar and cages Charley in.

“Bad form, guy,” Jerry says, leaning closer. “But I’m willing to let it go.”

Charley snorts. “What do you want?”

Jerry smirks and touches Charley’s shoulder. “A drink, if you’re offering.” Charley snarls and reaches automatically for the stake in this jacket. He’s too slow, though, and Jerry grabs his wrist.

“You want to do this here?” Jerry asks. His voice is mild but his fingers tighten painfully.

Charley glances around the bar. There are a few suspicious eyes on them, but the place is mostly empty. Still, Jerry doesn’t care about collateral damage, and Charley can’t risk a bloodbath. He shakes his head shortly and gestures for Jerry to go ahead. He doesn’t like having Jerry at his back.

He wants to kill the smug bastard, but he and Peter haven’t found a way to make sure he stays gone, and the price of failure is too high. For now all they can do is keep playing Jerry’s game. Jerry walks right to Charley’s car. Considering how newly acquired it is, Charley thinks he must want him to know how close an eye he keeps on them.

Jerry flashes a smile that makes Charley’s stomach drop. “Keys,” he demands. Charley tenses, ready to refuse, but Jerry just calmly grabs him by the throat and gropes through his pants pockets with his other hand until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Get in,” is the next order. Charley trudges to the passenger side. He grips the door handle, waits until Jerry has started to slide into the driver’s seat and then pushes off the car and sprints away. Wind roars in his ears. He can’t risk looking back, but he’s not really expecting to get away. He’s expecting Jerry to grab him; he doesn’t expect to get hit by the car, with just enough speed that Charley rolls over the hood and smacks against the windshield. The car screeches to halt. It might almost be comical, Charley thinks, as he blearily focuses on Jerry through the glass, but he hears some distant shouts coming from the direction of the bar. He knows that if any bystanders get to them Jerry will rip them apart. Jerry reaches over and opens the passenger side.

Charley drags himself over and into the car. Thankfully his system is too shocked to have registered any pain yet. Jerry laughs and buckles his seatbelt for him and then pats his knee. The tires squeal as Jerry pulls out. Charley doesn’t ask where Jerry is taking them. All that matters is that they’re not heading back to Peter.

They don’t go far. Charley’s head and shoulder are just starting to throb from the earlier impact when Jerry pulls over into a dimly lit and deserted parking lot. Jerry taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “So, kid,” he says, “outside or in?”

 

-

“They used to make these things for fucking,” Jerry tells him, but he doesn’t seem all that bothered by being cramped in the backseat. His hand digs into the back of Charley’s knee, pushing his leg up as he presses his cock deeper. Charley closes his eyes and, to distract from the pain, pictures Jerry with greaser hair and a leather jacket, draining someone’s blood in a T-bird at a drive-in movie.

This is the third time Jerry has caught him. Charley doesn’t want to think about this possibly becoming a pattern.

The first time was outside of a motel. Charley had foolishly ducked out to get something from the car and Jerry jumped him. Charley had fought back as hard as he could, but it had ended with Jerry slamming him against the side of the car, dead weight keeping Charley pinned. He’d expected to die, sure his silent apology to Amy, his mom, Peter and Ed would be his final thought. He’d been snapped back to reality, though, by the dirty grind of Jerry’s hips against his.

His adrenaline had spiked so sharp he was sure his heart almost gave out. Then those same hormones were stiffening up his dick and Jerry chuckled right next to his ear. Jerry gripped his ass, hoisted him up and thrust hard against him. “The fuck?” Charley hissed.

Jerry bent his head and Charley felt his fangs at his throat. “I could just kill you,” he offered. Charley glared at him. “Then be good,” Jerry said, resuming his rhythm. Charley’s whole body was buzzing, his pulse racing. He scratched and kicked, but it only seemed to spur Jerry on. It seemed to ratchet up his own arousal as well. Then Jerry grabbed Charley’s cock through his jeans and that was it.

After, Jerry patted his ass and said, “Strike one. Next time you owe me a drink.” Then he was gone.

Charley stumbled back into his and Peter’s room. Peter didn’t even stir. When dawn came they found Jerry had torched the car. “He’s getting cheeky,” Peter said in a sardonic tone. Charley was silent.

The second time was in a rest-stop bathroom, crowded up against the door. Jerry’s spit-wet fingers opened him up and Charley had just enough time to be glad Peter had at least made sure Jerry wasn’t his first before Jerry was pushing inside of him. It had hurt more, but then Peter had used actual lube and Amy had been there to kiss and touch him.

Charley drags his mind back to the present. He doesn’t want to taint that memory by letting Jerry anywhere near it. He focuses to find that Jerry is staring at him with a terrifying intensity.

“Where do you want it?”

The last time, Jerry drank from his thigh—a sharp spike of pain and pleasure that had felt far too intimate. Since he’s being given a choice, Charley offers a vein on his upper arm, above his elbow where a sleeve will easily cover the mark.

Jerry doesn’t look thrilled, but he leans down and sinks his teeth in without comment. It makes Charley gasp and jerk, which gets Jerry’s hips moving again. He tries to stay quiet, but between the biting and the fucking, strained noises just keep getting forced up his throat. The blood seems to make Jerry’s cock harder and his thrusts rougher, or maybe it’s just Charley getting weaker, his resistance drained away. He tries to push up a little to ease the angle, but his movements are uncoordinated and sluggish. Jerry seems to take it as some kind of signal and reaches between their bodies for Charley’s dick.

It doesn’t seem like he should be able to get hard with his blood being drained elsewhere, but the biting makes him tingly - something about vampire saliva, he’d read in one of Peter’s books. Unlike the throbbing hurt of the rest of it, Jerry’s hand on him is sinfully good, making him feel like everything else is falling away. This is the worst part, really, Jerry making him lose himself. Charley couldn’t save his friends from Jerry, couldn’t save Amy— can’t even stop Jerry from making him come. He feels it start at the base of his spine, feels himself bearing down on Jerry’s cock, not knowing if he wants it out or wants it deeper.

Without missing a beat Jerry lifts his hand to Charley’s mouth, and, too wrung out to resist, Charley licks his cum off Jerry’s cool fingers. And finally Jerry gives one more sharp thrust and groans as he comes. He keeps suckling at Charley’s arm, though, even as his cock softens and slips out of Charley’s body.

“Stop,” Charley says thickly when he’s started to feel lightheaded, pushing weakly at Jerry’s shoulder.

Jerry lifts his head. “A little more,” he says, “and I won’t have to feed on anyone else tonight, maybe not even tomorrow.” Charley squeezes his eyes shut and nods for him to continue. His vision’s spotty when Jerry finally disengages.

Jerry rights his own clothes first, and then Charley’s. He leaves him sprawled across the backseat and gets back behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home.” He says it so lightly, but he has to know how it stings—Charley doesn’t have a home because of him. “Where to?” Charley stays silent. He knows that Jerry is looking at him in the rear view mirror even without a reflection. “Tell me or I’ll call Peter on your phone and he'll be sure to do something very stupid.”

Charley tells him where they’re staying.

When they’re back at the motel Jerry hefts him easily into his arms. He hears him dimly through the fog still settled over his brain. “This is strike three, Charley: next time I get you that’s game over.”

“I don’t want to die,” Charley breathes against Jerry’s chest. He’s woozy, and it seems natural to tell him this—Jerry is, after all, the only authority figure in life anymore. “I want it to be over, but I don’t want to die.”

“Of course not, Charley, you’re a good kid—no matter how tough you get you still taste so sweet.” This is Jerry’s version of nice now that he’s fed. “Or you could just throw in the towel now. You’re so tired, aren’t you, Charley? It wouldn’t be that bad, belonging to me. You already do, really.” The shot of anger Charley gets from that is enough to send him struggling weakly. Jerry chuckles, tightening his hold. “That’s my boy.”

When Jerry sets him down at the door Charley has to lean on him a few seconds before he gets his balance. Jerry, mercifully, does not comment. Charley looks up at him. His eyes are so dark. Charley has seen his true face, and he doesn’t understand how Jerry can still appear so convincingly kind.

“How do I know you won’t just wait here and set the place on fire?” he asks

Jerry squeezes the back of his neck. “I already won tonight, but you better get moving in the morning. You remember what I told you would happen if you stop playing? If it doesn’t stay interesting? I’ll have to go back to Las Vegas and see your lovely mother.”

Charley almost says ‘Yes, sir,’ but he swallows it furiously. Before releasing him, Jerry traces an X on his neck, right along his carotid artery, a light scratch that will fade within a couple hours, but Charley feels it like a burn. Then Jerry’s sauntering off into the night.

Charley stands there for a few minutes, even after Jerry has disappeared. As quietly as possible he opens the door and creeps into the room. Peter is in bed, but he immediately stirs and opens his eyes. “All right?” He sounds concerned, but not suspicious. He knows he doesn’t need to be alarmed if Charley came in without an invitation. Plus, they always keep a cross by the door wherever they go, and Charley automatically touches it as he enters.

His fingers trace the silver cross. He doesn’t look at Peter. “Fine,” he says, and then crawls into bed.


End file.
